A Powerful Thing
by RCB
Summary: Everyone needs a day off, even during the Apocalypse. A Sam and Castiel centric gen fic. A/N: I bumped the rating to Teen for the use of one teensy curse word.


The plaid couch looked as though it had barely survived the seventies. The wooden coffee table was spared from being completely covered in graffiti solely by the fact that it had a pane of glass on top, though not for the sake of trying. Someone had tried to etch their declaration of love into the glass with a pen knife but had quit after M-I-C-H.

Wallpaper, made up of tiny delicate roses, covered the wall, starting from the floor and ending about four feet up. From there, however, it changed abruptly to red and white stripes, with white plaster peeking through in various places.

Every time the train passed, more of the ceiling rained down, covering the contents of the meager and quite possibly the worst hotel room in existence with a fine powder that nearly matched the snow on the ground outside. Sam couldn't possibly know there was snow on the ground from looking out the window, however, since years of filth prevented anyone from being able to see through the glass for at least the last half decade. His knowledge of the current weather condition came from having recently been stuck outside in it for hours with a surly older brother, an empty gas can, and a newly made resolution to never rely on the Impala's aging gas gauge ever again.

The half lit sign atop the hotel proclaimed the place to be the Dudley Hotel, but Sam had decided, once he got the heat working, to call it Paradise.

At the sound of a distant whistle, Sam's hand went instinctively to the top of his beer. He held it there until the train passed and the ceiling stopped snowing once more. He tapped the remote on his hip twice, and pressed the power button.

Though the couch creaked loudly every time Sam made the tiniest movement, and there was a spring poking him determinedly in the ass, he was still content. The place was warm, he had a cold beer, and the first of the bowl games was finally on. Dean was out picking them up something hot to eat, and would be back any minute so they could pig out and watch the game together.

Apocalypse or not; it was cold, they were tired, and everyone needed a break sometime. At least, that was what Dean had argued to Sam after he handed over two worn twenties to the clerk behind the front desk. Since Sam was still trying to rub the hypothermia from his gloveless hands, he didn't really argue back.

When the door opened, Sam didn't turn to look at Dean. Instead, he covered his beer with his hand again, and waited for it to slam shut and bring about the inevitable ceiling shower.

Except neither of those ever came, and no over grown child of a brother was jumping onto the couch next to him.

Sam let go of his beer, and turned back towards the door, the couch groaning loudly in protest. Castiel stood in the open doorway, looking especially grim and serious.

"Where's Dean?" he asked.

Sam's heart fell into his stomach. He'd been looking forward to one night off. One night of pretending that the world wasn't ending, _football is on! The world can't be ending if there's still football!_, but more importantly a night of trading friendly insults with Dean and wrestling for the last slice of pizza, not because he was still hungry, just because it was there.

Sam tried not to let the disappointment show on his face because it's not that he doesn't _like_ Castiel, but it wasn't like Castiel ever dropped by just to say hello. Something was going on; something that meant their day off wasn't going to happen.

"He went for food," Sam said.

"I need you to come with me. Immediately," Castiel answered, his voice rushed and urgent.

"What's up?" Sam asked even as he stood up. He resisted the urge to rub at the sore spot caused by the wayward couch spring.

"I need to show you something."

"Show me what?"

Castiel had a habit of procuring odd things, like angels trapped in burning holy oil, and Sam wanted a proper heads up before walking into something like that.

"Please."

Now he had Sam's complete and undivided attention. He couldn't recall Castiel saying the word "please", and even if he had, Sam doubted it would have involved the begging facial expression that Castiel used with it.

"Yeah. Okay," Sam agreed as he grabbed for his coat.

"We will walk. It isn't far," Castiel said while Sam locked the door behind him. Sam nodded and followed Castiel down the dimly lit hallway. On the way down the stairs, Sam called Dean.

"Tell him no," Dean interrupted Sam the moment he said Castiel had shown up.

"I can't," Sam said.

"Yes, you can. It starts with nnnn and ends with ooooo."

"I don't think it's that simple. I'll call you when I know what's going on."

"Double cheese and pepperoni. _Double_. Do you know how hard it is to score a decent pizza on New Year's Day? In _this_ town?"

"You better save me a piece. I mean it, Dean."

"What's that? You're breaking up."

"Dean!"

Sam slid the phone back into his pocket.

"He is only pretending to not be able to hear you. The cellular service is fine here," Castiel stated.

"Yeah, I know," Sam answered.

"He does that to me sometimes," Castiel said, and the look on his face made Sam resolve to kick Dean as soon as he got back.

"Sorry. He thinks he's funny."

"But you do not think so?" Castiel asked. He opened the door for Sam and motioned for Sam to go ahead of him. They hadn't shoveled any of the walks yet, or plowed the roads. Sam stepped down into a foot of snow, and tried to think of warm things, like Hawaii.

"No, not really," Sam answered, remembering nightmare days of superglue and Nair.

"I feel better," Castiel said. "I thought it was just me."

The streets were quiet, most people preferring to stay home, probably to avoid the snow and watch the game that Sam was missing. "You don't think he's funny?" Sam asked with a chuckle.

"It's…difficult. Understanding funny," Castiel said. "Clever is easier."

"Ha well, that's why you can't understand Dean," Sam said. Another look around the streets confirmed that they were the only two people out.

"Your brother can be clever. It is just a very rare occurrence," Castiel said seriously, making Sam laugh.

"See? That was funny," Sam said.

"I know." Castiel's mouth quirked into a half smile.

"But I thought you didn't understand funny."

"I said that it was sometimes difficult. Not that I didn't understand." Castiel's half smile turned into a full grin.

Sam chuckled with surprise and shook his head while he continued to trudge through the snow. "How much farther?" he asked, trying not to shiver.

The smile disappeared from Castiel's face immediately. "Just after that corner. Then a few more blocks."

They walked in grim silence, Sam's worry increasing by the minute. Castiel's tension seemed to grow the closer they got to the corner, and even more so once they rounded it.

"Just what are we--"

"There." Castiel pointed into the distance. "That's where we are going."

There was a small crowd at the top of a hill. That much Sam could make out from where they were. Once they got closer, Sam could see that it was a crowd of children and adults, all with red cheeks and noses, and in various states of either riding down the hill, or attempting to climb back up it.

"I-I don't get it. What am I looking at?" Sam asked. Castiel's forehead was so wrinkled that it was seriously in danger of being permanently marked. "Wait, are they possessed or something?"

"No."

"Okay. Um, witches?"

"No."

"Are we going to play twenty questions or are you going to tell me? Come on dude, it's cold out here!"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said immediately, turning his attention away from the sled riders at once. "I forgot about the cold."

"It's okay, just… tell me why we're here."

"I don't understand." Castiel motioned to a young girl, maybe eleven years old, positioning herself atop a round disc sled.

"You don't understand what? Sled riding?" Sam didn't try and hide his bafflement.

"Why do they do it?" Castiel asked, his eyes looking at Sam in earnest.

"I-because it's fun?" Sam realized that answering in the form of a question probably took away points in his credibility rating, but he was still trying to get his head around Castiel dragging him out to show him a group of people sled riding.

"I know that," Castiel said, looking back at them again. "But-I don't get-what does fun feel like?"

Sam blinked.

"That girl," Castiel pointed to the same girl, now halfway down the hill with her hands gripping the sides of the sled so tight that Sam bet her knuckles were white, "I watched her walk up the hill twenty seven times. She is tired, and cold, and each time she feels fear when she looks down the hill. She's an hour late getting home, and will be punished by her parents for being late. How powerful is this thing? That it compels her to go against all self preservation in order to chase after it a few minutes more?"

Sam opened his mouth, but no sound would come out.

"At first I thought it was a thing for children. But that man," Castiel pointed to a man wearing a dull, olive green coat. "He has done it forty seven times!"

Before Sam could ask exactly how long Castiel had been at the hill watching, Castiel went on "This place is innocent. There are no curses, enchantments or anything that compels these people to act against their will. Yet, that woman there," Castiel pointed to a woman in a navy pea coat. Sam could see small wisps of grey hair peeking out from under her matching knit hat. "She collided with another person, injured her hip, and still she followed her grandchildren back up the hill, only to smile and do it all over again."

Castiel fell silent, and Sam watched him watch the sleds. He looked frustrated beyond belief, and Sam himself was a mixed bag of relief, annoyance, and pity for the angel's powerful and frustrated curiosity.

Sam forgot about the cold, the barely remembered taste of pepperoni pizza, and the imagined paradise of the Dudley Hotel. "It's been a long time, but it's kind of like flying, I guess. You guys fly, right?" he asked Castiel.

Castiel's eyes turned downward. "No, not for a very long time. Our wings-let's just say that would be disastrous. We have another method of travel."

"Oh," Sam stated and tried to think of another tactic. He was interrupted when he saw a flash of olive green out of the corner of his eye. The man that Castiel said had ridden the hill forty seven times was headed their way, and he looked angry.

"I told you to git!" he yelled as he stomped over to them. "Weirdo!"

Sam had the answer to his question about how long Castiel had been standing there.

"Whoa!" Sam intervened. "Look-he's a friend of mine, okay?"

"Yeah? Well, you can take your creeper friend and git, too!"

"He believes me to be a child predator," Castiel interjected.

"Thanks, I think I got that on my own," Sam said to Castiel. To the man, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

Sam walked a few feet away from Castiel and kept his voice low. "Look, sorry if he scared you. He's uh…special. Head injury," Sam said.

"A head injury."

"Yeah," Sam spied a tattoo peeking out from under the man's coat. "Got caught on the wrong end of a grenade in Iraq. They say he'll probably never be the same."

Suspicious disbelief immediately gave way to outraged anger. It wasn't directed at Castiel, however, instead the man let loose a string of obscenities intended for the owner of the imaginary Iraqi grenade. "Sometimes, things spark memories. You know, like from his childhood. Like sled riding. This might be a real break through for him."

The man looked back at Castiel who had resumed his hawk-like observance of the people on the hill.

"A break through, huh?" The man asked. His eyes narrowed, no doubt reaching the conclusion that Sam had meant for him to reach. "Hey, I got an extra sled over there. You wanna…"

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Sam asked, feigning concern over putting the man out.

"Least I could do for a fellow soldier," the man said. His chest puffed up with pride. "Did a tour in Iraq myself, 'fore I retired."

"That would be great, thanks. Let me go tell him," Sam said. They shook hands, the man returning to his family, no doubt to explain Castiel's "special" condition, while Sam hurried back to Castiel.

"You lied." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Please tell me you understand the concept of lying," Sam answered.

Castiel began to head towards the man, who was waving them over and holding up an inflatable sled. "I've spent a significant amount of time with your brother," he called back over his shoulder.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sam decided. "Look. There's no way to explain it, okay? I figured this was the best way."

Castiel nodded, and seemed to be oblivious to the gust of wind that was blowing his trench coat around. Sam wished he was as lucky.

It took a little bit of time to get Castiel positioned properly on the sled. If the other riders had any doubt about Castiel's mental status, the sight of Castiel at the front of the sled with his knees drawn up to his chin, his eyes as wide as saucers, and arms wrapped tightly around his legs probably confirmed it. Sam was pretty sure his own mental status was in question, when he tried to fit himself behind Castiel, his long legs making the experience less than graceful.

Just as Sam was about to push them off for the first time, Castiel stopped him and turned around slightly to look Sam in the eye.

"I think... I'm scared."

"It'll be okay. I'm right behind you."

~*~

"That was, without a doubt, the _gayest_ thing I have ever seen."

"Shut up, Dean."

"One more time," Castiel pleaded. "Dean, do you want to go this time? It's _fun_."

"And make Sam sit one out? I wouldn't dream of it."

"Uh, maybe you're ready to try going down by yourself?" Sam suggested. He tried to ignore Dean's promising smirk of future taunts.

"I don't think that would be as much fun," Castiel said hesitantly. "But if you are tired and don't want to…"

"You know what? Sure, let's go," Sam decided. He hadn't been able to feel his toes for the last hour anyway, so one more trip wasn't going to hurt. Besides, the hopeful look on Castiel's face was absolutely impossible to say no to.

He ignored Dean's snort as he took his place behind Castiel, the new owner of the two person sled. The others had long since gone home, and Frank, unable to take it away from the delighted Castiel, had told the angel that he could just keep it.

Just as Sam was about to push them off the edge, Dean stopped them. "One sec."

The click of Dean's camera phone confirmed Sam's earlier concern that he was never going to hear the end of it.

"Now?" Castiel asked, nearly bouncing up and down with impatience.

"Now." Sam pushed off one last time. When the ride was over, Castiel was up first, offering his hand to Sam, who took it.

"Thank you," Castiel said, not letting go of Sam's hand. Instead he turned it slightly, and shook it, adding his other one on top. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam hoped that his brother wasn't still in the picture taking mood, and shook Castiel's hand back. "You're welcome."

They walked back up together; Castiel lugged the sled up the hill, arguing that it was his turn. "I am curious about another thing, Sam," he began.

"What's that?" Sam asked, his attention on his footing.

"Have you ever gone skydiving?"

~*~

Fin


End file.
